


bullet holes in the tapestry (slowly bleeding memories)

by AuroraKant



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Almost smut, Cheesy, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Poetic Language, Secret Relationship, Use of Poetry to Woe Your Lover, just... horny young men, no beta we die like jason todd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29737887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraKant/pseuds/AuroraKant
Summary: A dry chuckle escaped Dick, his chest heaving from all the emotions cursing through him. This was their game. Their foreplay. Their battle of wits. Poems shared in darkness; nights spent together. They never kissed during the day, they never held hands where anyone could see.But in Dick’s apartment late at night?They exchanged kisses, love, andwords.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 18
Kudos: 133





	bullet holes in the tapestry (slowly bleeding memories)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> This was impulsively written today and... yeah.... I have no other explanation for this, besides... I am horny for poems.

Hot kisses trailed down his neck. Dick arched his back away from the bed and towards Jason, greedy in his search for warm skin and rough lips.

His skin was tingling, vibrating from the sensation of Jason’s rough hands pushing him down, callused fingertips dancing over every scar Dick had ever acquired. And he had a lot. They’ve been making out for hours by now, his throat raw, his lips bitten bloody.

Above him Jason looked just as unruly, his hair a mess, his pupils dilated. They had lost their shirts a long time ago, their pants joining the heaps of clothing on the floor not long into their passionate reunion. Now they were in their underwear, miles of sweaty, delicious skin on display.

Through half-lidded eyes Dick could see the scars running down Jason’s chest, and he wanted to lick them, feel the ridged edges of healed skin on the sensitive tip of his tongue.

Whenever Dick had sex with someone outside _the life_ , he felt ugly. His hands were big and rough, always black and blue. His body was a riddle of scars and past mistakes. His face might be pretty, but even then, his nose was permanently crooked, and half his teeth were fake.

But with Jason? With Jason Dick felt powerful. Majestic. Worship worthy.

And Jason was the same to him.

A man among monsters, a god among mortals.

His black hair was a dark crown adorning a face carved in marble, bathed in blood and love. His eyes were _alive, alive, alive_ , lighting and thunder at home in the electric greens. When Jason pushed him down, Dick wanted to fight for dominance and _lose_.

“ _Sieh dir die Liebenden an, wenn erst das Bekennen begann, wie bald sie lügen._ “

Jason’s words were hot where they danced across his skin, little fires puffing against Dick’s neck, sending shivers down his spine. Dick moaned when the words registered, and he knew his voice sounded like sin, when he whispered:

“Rainer Maria Rilke. ‘Look at the lovers, when they start to confess, how soon they’ll be lying’. What a romantic thing to serenade me with, Jay. Are we lovers? Or are we liars?”

“We are whatever we need to be. Your turn.”

A dry chuckle escaped Dick, his chest heaving from all the emotions cursing through him. This was their game. Their foreplay. Their battle of wits. Poems shared in darkness; nights spent together. They never kissed during the day, they never held hands where anyone could see.

But in Dick’s apartment late at night?

They exchanged kisses, love, words and sex. If secrecy was the price Dick had to pay to wake up next to his lover, then he was more than willing to go in dept.

With a twist of his hips Dick rolled over Jason, changing his position, changing his point of view. Pushing the broad shoulders of his partner down into the soft mattress, Dick was a king. And Jason was his kingdom. His to discover and rule and devour.

Jason’s eyes were filled with lust, his mouth open, his pink tongue darting out to wet his plush lips. Dick wanted to eat him. Dick wanted to make him cum.

But he did neither.

He let his hands wander over the broad chest, let his hips grind against Jason’s stomach. Every shaky breath got documented, every dry swallow noted. And when Jason was ready to lose himself, when his abs shuddered, and his chest heaved… Dick leaned forward, his lips brushing past Jason’s ear:

“ _Non te ne andare._ _Io ti veglierò._ _Io ti proteggerò._ _Ti pentirai di tutto fuorchè d’essere venuto a me, liberamente, fieramente._ _Ti amo. Non ho nessun pensiero che non sia tuo;”_

“That’s not a poem. That’s just you being a sappy asshole in Italian.”

Jason was grinning, as if he had said something especially clever. Dick was well aware that his Little Wing was just being a little shit, and he answered in kind: his teeth buried themselves in the soft flesh of Jason’s ear, a sweet curse answer enough.

“Just tell me the poet and the poem, Jay…”

“’Do not go. I will watch you. I will protect you. You'll regret anything but coming to me, freely, proudly. I love you. I do not have any thought that is not yours;’ _Rimani_ by Gabriele D’Annunzio, you sap.”

“I knew your Italian was good enough.”

Dick’s answer didn’t seem to satisfy Jason. The younger man pulled Dick away from his ear, and then… they were kissing, tongues battling for equality. Jason was shaking underneath Dick’s hands, and Dick was melting from the attention Jason’s mouth was gifting him. They were one. They were separate.

They were together.

For a moment that was enough.

Dick’s eyes fell closed, his mind lost in the sensation of pleasure and love and _together_. Too soon Jason pulled away again, Dick forced to return to the present. There was something wistful in his eyes, something soft in the smile decorating his lover’s lips:

“ _sunā hai rabt hai us ko ḳharāb-hāloñ se -- so apne aap ko barbād kar ke dekhte haiñ… sunā hai dard kī gāhak hai chashm-e-nāz us kī -- so ham bhī us kī galī se guzar ke dekhte haiñ._ ”

“I-“ – Dick stopped before he continued translating, his mind busy as it attempted to turn the beauty of Jason’s words into something just as worthy in English – “’I have heard that they feel a bond to those in-bad-conditions – so let’s see by ruining ourselves… I have heard their eyes are buyers of pain – so let’s see by passing through their street.’ I… I don’t know who wrote that.”

“It’s by Ahmad Faraz. A Pakistani poet…”

“Ah, did you talk to Damian about literature again?”

Dick was grinning but his heart was burning. The words had touched something deep inside of him… ‘ _so let’s see by ruining ourselves_ ’ felt like line written just to describe him and Jason. They were catastrophes waiting to happen, storms crashing against the shore. They were bundles of trauma, keeping each other afloat.

They were each other’s lifeline, connected by years of experiences spent together.

“Always.” Jason was grinning as well, but the sadness Dick felt was visible in the mirror of Jason’s eyes.

Dick kissed him.

Their pain tasted sweet.

A touch of tongue, wandering hands, and a twist of bodies, and Dick’s pain laid forgotten at the bottom of his gut, mixed with lust and sorrow and pleasure, until only their arousal was left.

“kahāniyāñ hī sahī sab mubālġhe hī sahī -- agar vo ḳhvāb hai tābīr kar ke dekhte haiñ…”

Jason continued, his beautiful face filling Dick’s entire field of vision. And Dick translated the whispered words, the promises, the beauty:

“’Even if these are only stories, even if it’s just exaggeration – if they are dreams, then let’s _see_ by living our interpretations of them.’ This might be the most romantic thing you ever said to me…”

“Shut up.”

Dick came up for air what felt like hours later, his skin hot, his eyes glowing. Jason was a mess of paint splatters in front of him, their fingers entangled, where Dick had reached for him.

Dick was growing tired of this game of theirs, and yet he knew they couldn’t stop just yet. As much as Dick wanted to devour Jason, as much as he wanted to be drowned by Jason’s heat, should they stop now, Dick would lose. It was always about winning when the two of them clashed. Even years of secrets and stolen kisses could do nothing to quell their competitiveness.

One deep breath later, and Dick reached for Jason, his words molten stone:

“ _До_ _гроба_ _ты_ _хранитель_ _мой_ _... Ты_ _в_ _сновиденьях_ _мне_ _являлся_ _, Незримый_ _, ты_ _мне_ _был_ _уж_ _мил_ _, Твой_ _чудный_ _взгляд_ _меня_ _томил_ _, В_ _душе_ _твой_ _голос_ _раздавался_ _Давно_ _... нет_ _, это_ _был_ _не_ _сон_ _!_ **”**

With glee Dick watched the confusion on Jason’s face, watched as the younger man searched for words. Russian had always been Dick’s language, the sweet voice of his mother telling him stories of Baba Yaga and the Domovoi in her native tongue, when she tucked him in in bed late at night, a companion of day’s past.

Jason was never starved for words even if he didn’t speak. He was treasuring them, keeping them close to his heart, where Dick shared his freely. And yet… the confusion fell away from Jason’s face, and his voice was sweet as honey when he answered Dick:

“Pushkin… something. I forgot his first name… but ‘To the grave itself you are my saviour… In dreams you have appeared to me, Though yet unseen, I held you dear, Your glance and strangeness tortured me, To my soul your voice was loud and clear From long ago… It was not a dream!’… Very nice with the grave imagery.”

“I was more focused on the part where I said you appear in my dreams when I thought of the quote.”

Jason grinned dangerously, showing his teeth, showing his power. A shiver ran down Dick’s spine, and a needy moan escaped him, when Jason pushed his leg forward, pressing against his groin. He was overstimulated, hot and sweaty.

It was time to stop playing around.

“Jay… can we just fuck now?”

“Sweet talker… but I have one poem left. Only one. I promise.”

For a moment Jason seemed almost nervous, Dick’s heartbeat picking up when he saw the flicker of doubt cross over Jason’s features. But before Dick could say another word, before the topic could be changed or another kiss could be exchanged, Jason pushed forward, shoulders squared and battle ready:

“There are bullet holes in the tapestry,   
slowly bleeding memories.

There are scratches on the cupboard front,   
dread pouring onto No Man’s Land.

There are bedsheets balled up on the floor,   
collecting dust and love and more.

There are secrets shared together,   
in the hopes of one more forever.”

Silence.

Love.

Hope.

“I don’t know the poet…” Dick’s voice was barely a whisper, more of a sigh. His chest was filled with love, his bones filled with the possibilities of what Jason might say next. His lover had broken the rules after all…. He had given Dick a full poem, in English, without a hint of mystery or shame.

He had given a Dick a part of his soul whether he knew it or not.

“It’s… I wrote it. It’s my poem.”

“For me?”

“For us.”

When Dick reached for Jason, there was no one here to stop him. Jason was his, and as they kissed, and fumbled, and melted together, they became something more as well. Something special. Something that belonged only to them.

They kissed – and the universe burned.

They kissed – and the world beyond their walls stopped existing.

There was only Dick and Jason. Jason and Dick. There was only… the two of them together.

**Author's Note:**

> Poems in order of appearance:  
> Das Lied - Rainer Maria Rilke.  
> Rimani - Gabriele D’Annunzio  
> suna hai log use aankh bhar ke dekhte hain - Ahmad Faraz (translation provided by the wonderful Gemini-Baby)  
> Письмо Татьяны к Онегину - Alexander Pushkin   
> aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand... the last last one? That's by me. :D
> 
> Feedback gives me life!! <3


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